Central London - 23rd December 2038:

Ruth was wandering along a street in Soho when she heard her name being called. She had met Catherine and Mark for lunch in an uncomfortably modern eatery, where the seats were low, as were the tables. She'd felt out of place, but had politely kept her discomfort to herself. She still enjoyed walking, and after hunching over her meal, she'd needed to stretch her legs and her back. There it was again. A woman's voice, and the familiarity of the voice had her stopping and turning.

"Ruth? I thought it was you." The woman, perhaps a decade younger than Ruth, her hair cut in a bob, and clearly dyed a rich dark brown, smiled at her.

"Erin!" Ruth exclaimed. "I'm sorry. It's only a few months since I last saw you, but …... I wasn't expecting to see you. I was just wandering along, lost in my own world, and …..."

Erin Watts was still tall, slim and elegant, and carried herself with a straight back. The striking eyes and the direct eye contact were as unsettling as ever.

"Are you in a hurry?" Ruth shook her head. "Can we find somewhere to sit and have a chat ….. and a coffee? I'd love a catch-up."

There had been a time early in Ruth's acquaintance with Erin when a coffee and a chat would have been the very last thing she'd wanted to share with her former colleague. Now …... now things were different. Time was no longer something one snatched and grabbed. Time was something of which Ruth had an abundance. Time yawned endlessly in front of her.

They found a small shop just around the corner from where they'd almost run into one another. Called Hazar's, it offered so many different types of coffee that Ruth was momentarily overwhelmed.

"Would you like me to order for you, Ruth?" Erin offered, and Ruth nodded.

At least the shop was cosy, and Ruth felt safe and warm. And the tables were designed to accommodate adults of normal shape and size, mature-aged adults like herself. Watching Erin weave her way back to their table, Ruth knew she'd have to talk about Harry, and she didn't know whether she'd be able to. In an unconscious demonstration of anxiety, she grasped Harry's wedding ring, which she wore on a fine gold chain around her neck. She twirled the ring around between her fingers, something she did many times each day, although she was largely unaware of her action. The gesture was not lost on Erin, who smiled warmly as she sat down opposite Ruth.

"Harry's ring?" Erin asked, and Ruth nodded, dropping the ring so that it again fell under the neckline of her dress. "I'm sorry I didn't get to speak to you at the funeral, Ruth. There were so many people there. Harry was a popular man, it seemed."

"You sound surprised, Erin ….. that he was popular."

"Sorry. I didn't mean for it to come out that way."

"It's alright. There's no need for embarrassment. I used to think I was the only one who could see his finer qualities. He was very warm ….. and gentle. I saw that in him when others ….. didn't."

"I always found Harry to be fair and decent, Ruth, but he was difficult to get to know. He was always totally professional, and kept his personal feelings close to his chest. From my position you appeared to be the only one who knew him well."

Ruth smiled at Erin, realising that Erin had only known Harry briefly, and in the workplace, so her view of him lacked dimension. "How is Jack? And Rosie?"

Erin smiled, visibly relieved for Ruth to have changed the subject. "Rosie lives in Maine with her American husband. She's made me a grandmother twice over – two boys. Jack is …. still on the mend. He didn't make it to Harry's funeral because he was in hospital himself. He's eighteen years older than I am, so ….. I'm having to come to terms with the probability of outliving him."

Ruth nodded, suddenly feeling compassion for Erin. She would most likely have to bury her husband, just as she had had to bury Harry. Suddenly, Ruth realised that she no longer wished to skirt around the subject of Harry. She wanted to talk about it, talk about him, cry if the mood took her, and laugh about some of the lighter and happier times they'd shared.

"Harry and I almost didn't get together, you know."

"I know. It was a source of some consternation on the Grid. All of us – Calum, Dimitri, Tariq Masood, me, and even the admin people – we could all see how close you were, but it was like …..."

"... we just couldn't ….. find one another."

"Yes. It was a distressing thing to watch, and then there was the day you were stabbed, and we all thought you were dead. While you were in hospital recovering, Harry insisted Dimitri and I attend a first aid refresher course. He was livid."

Ruth had a sudden flash of Dimitri's young face, another fine man struck down before he'd turned forty. "I barely have a memory of that day."

"It was the catalyst you both needed. Not my refresher course, but your dramatic injury. I was the one who went to Harry's house in early evening to tell him you were alive. He was ….." Erin dropped her eyes for a moment, remembering Harry's deep grief, fortunately short-lived. "Can you believe that was 27 years ago?"

"And I'm grateful for every moment of the almost 27 years Harry and I had together. We were married for 25 years, and I consider myself blessed to have had that." Ruth sighed, feeling freer than she had in over five months. "What you probably don't know, because we only ever told Harry's two children, is that a few months after we moved to Suffolk, I miscarried."

"Oh, Ruth, I'm sorry. That must have been devastating."

"It was ….. for both of us." Ruth briefly thought of their first time together, and how contraception had been the last thing on their minds. "We hadn't planned a family. We were content with there being just the two of us, and then we discovered I was two months pregnant. Two weeks later I miscarried. For around a year after that we kept trying to conceive, but it didn't happen for us. Had that child lived it would now be 26. We were both hoping for a girl. We'd even chosen a name for her …..."

The two women sat in silence for several minutes, during which eye contact felt too confronting, too personal. Ruth had just shared something with Erin which, apart from medical personnel, had only been known to four people. Ruth wanted someone else to know that she and Harry had very nearly had a child of their own. Almost.

"What name had you chosen?" Erin asked, quietly and carefully.

Ruth glanced up, surprised. "Electra – Ellie for short. It means incandescent. I wanted something Greek."

Both women remained silent, giving Ruth time to reflect on yet another deep loss. Again, it was Erin who broke the silence.

"Do you remember the Christmas party on the Grid the year you were stabbed? Harry almost punched Calum because -"

"- he hugged me and then kissed me on the cheek. I do remember, but I'd forgotten about that. Harry was such a jealous sod in those days. He shouted at Calum to leave me be ….. because of my injury, but that was just his excuse. Calum barely knew what to do, and I seem to remember that he didn't speak for at least fifteen minutes."

"It was a beautiful silence, even if it did only last fifteen minutes." Erin smiled and then dropped her eyes. Remembrances were so very personal. "It's such a shame about Calum. He would have made a fine Home Secretary."

"He was never terribly good at hiding his indiscretions," Ruth noted quietly.

"Well, a man who is seeking one of the three great offices in the land should have been more careful. Everyone knows that prostitutes talk, especially to members of the media."

"How is he, Erin?"

"He's had almost ten years in which to think about what he threw away …."

"A marriage and a career."

Erin turned her cup in her hand, as she contemplated how much she should share. "His wife was the one who spoke to the journalist who eventually broke the story. He told me that she had no intention of living in his shadow."

"She sabotaged his career?" Ruth's eyes widened.

"Yes. And it was Calum who ended the marriage, rather than the other way around."

"Do you regret leaving parliament, Erin?"

"Not at all. The security service was tough, but parliament was a bear pit. Besides, I was ready to retire, and I wanted to spend more time with Jack." Again Erin hesitated before she spoke. She had to choose her words with care. "Do you regret not continuing to work for William? You could have worked in any security service in the world, Ruth."

"Had I done that I would not have had 27 years with Harry. I'm content with my choices. Besides, power has its dark side."

Erin nodded, watching Ruth for any sign she was being disingenuous, but she could see none. Erin had once had little understanding of Ruth's limited ambition for herself. As she'd viewed her, Ruth could have done anything, gone anywhere. She may even have had a political career had she wanted it. She had given it all up for a life with Harry Pearce, and Erin had failed to see why. Now, since Jack's skiing accident, she had a better understanding.

"Harry and I travelled a lot. We'd put aside at least two months of each year to explore the world together. I wouldn't have missed that for any job."

Again, the two women sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts – Erin's thoughts of her twenty-three year marriage to Jack Towers, younger brother of William, and Ruth in her memories of travelling the world with her favourite travelling companion.

"Erin …... I know this is short notice, but would you like to join me in Suffolk for a quiet Christmas lunch? I'm finding it difficult being alone in the cottage without Harry. Catherine and Mark will be spending the day with Mark's mother, who isn't well, while Graham and Holly are still in the US."

"I'd love to," Erin replied with a smile. "It will be just me," she added. "Jack isn't up to travelling."

"Won't he be lonely?"

"His daughter lives next door to us, so he can join her family."

"Only if you're sure, Erin."

"I am. I look forward to it."

Suffolk cottage - 25th December 2038:

Ruth was surprised by how much she was looking forward to spending Christmas Day with Erin. The intervening years had softened both women, and Ruth was grateful for the company of a familiar face, especially one from the time when she and Harry first got together.

"The cottage is lovely, Ruth," Erin said, as Ruth showed her through.

Ruth had hesitated outside the bedroom she and Harry had shared for 27 years, but Erin spotted the enlarged photograph on the wall.

"Ruth …... what an extraordinary image of the two of you. You look so …... so -"

"- happy," Ruth said, leading Erin into the room.

On the wall opposite the door was a photograph of her and Harry, taken five years earlier, on his eightieth birthday. Harry had been sitting in his favourite armchair, and Ruth had sat on the arm of the chair, her arm draped around his shoulder, her head leaning towards him. With his camera Graham had caught the moment when they'd looked into one another's eyes and smiled. Ruth could even remember what she'd been thinking at the very moment the photo had been taken. It was: I am so very lucky that I still have this man in my life. How close we came to not spending our lives together.

On the wall behind the bedroom door was another enlarged image of them both, taken the afternoon of their first Christmas Day in the cottage. They had been standing in the kitchen, when Harry had turned her face towards him, and reached down to kiss her. Graham, creeping around with his new digital camera, had caught the moment when their lips had touched. It became their favourite image of themselves, especially given what had happened for the first time only that morning.

When Erin asked to visit Harry's grave, Ruth hesitated, but knew it was the right time, and with the right person. She only visited his grave every month or so, whenever she attended a church service at the C of E just around the corner. There had been times when she could feel Harry's presence in the house with her, and so she had stopped visiting the resting place of his body, preferring the sense she had that he was in the cottage with her. She liked to think that he would still be protecting her.

Ruth kept a respectful distance while Erin stood at the foot of the grave.

"What a lovely inscription," she said once she turned towards Ruth. "Did you choose the wording?"

Ruth nodded. It had taken her all of two minutes to compose the words she'd wanted on his headstone.

PEARCE

Henry James (Harry) KBE

Beloved husband of Ruth

Father to Catherine and Graham

Protector of us all

1953 – 2038

Our Love is Eternal

Ruth led Erin back to the cottage via the village square – a large triangle of lawn surrounding an oak tree. She stopped beside a wooden bench, indicating with her hand the brass plaque on the back of the bench.

"The village put this here …. in memory of Harry. He did a lot …. for the community and it's people, especially the young ones. He'll be …... missed." Ruth felt the tears building behind her eyes, and she stopped to take a deep breath. Erin noticed, and placed a comforting hand on her arm. "I miss him so much, Erin. I go to say something to him, and when I turn, the room is empty ….. and so terribly quiet. The cottage was never quiet when Harry was around, but …... I'm glad he was the one to go first. He never would have coped without me. I'm just …... devastated …. but had I been the one to have died first, he would have curled up in a foetal ball and refused to keep living. He depended on me totally."

Ruth then wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck so that it covered her chin and her mouth, and then headed back through the village to her cottage, the cottage she had bought over twenty-seven years ago for herself and Harry. She would never leave her cottage, not while she still had all her faculties. Erin soon caught up with her, but held back a little, allowing Ruth some space.

Erin left in mid afternoon, and so Ruth quickly cleaned up the dining room and kitchen, so that by late afternoon she was free to curl up on the sofa with a book, the open fire flickering, it's warmth embracing the whole room. Her first Christmas Day without Harry had been unexpectedly pleasant. As Erin had left, they'd agreed to keep in touch.

Having read three or four pages of her book, Ruth found her mind wandering, something she did more and more since Harry's death from a massive heart attack. For the first few weeks after Harry had died, Ruth would go over the days and hours leading up to his sudden death, trying to decide whether there was anything she could have done to have prevented it. Whichever way she examined it, she could find no moment, no decision she or anyone else had made which could have impacted on the eventual outcome. Perhaps it had been Harry's time. It's just that Ruth would have liked just another day with him – a few more hours in which to enjoy his company, a few more stolen moments to lie close to the warmth of his body.

It was then that Ruth remembered the first time they had made love. Christmas morning, 2011. Ruth had been out of hospital for a month, and Harry had already given notice at work, his last day having been Christmas Eve. From the time Ruth had left hospital they had slept together in the double bed in the front bedroom, their sleeping arrangement chaste until such time that Ruth's doctor gave her the all clear to resume a normal life. Ruth had woken just before dawn to find Harry's hand under her pyjama top, his thumb caressing the bare skin of her abdomen. She'd turned towards him to see him watching her, a question in his eyes. She'd nodded, and then reached over to kiss him. The kiss very soon became passionate, so that it was on that morning that their child was conceived, and it was ten weeks later that they lost her. Ruth felt tears rolling down her cheeks. That had been their first Christmas together as a couple. There would be no more Christmases with Harry, and no more children. Ruth leaned her head back and allowed her grief a voice. She had already accepted that there would be a part of her which would grieve Harry's loss for some time. Eventually the gratitude would outweigh the sadness, but she knew she would always miss him. She also accepted that with time she would overlook his less attractive traits - like his monumental pigheadedness, and his perverse enjoyment of an argument - preferring to remember him for his kindness and gentleness, his unique way with words, and his incisive intelligence.

Ruth's tears stopped when she remembered their last Christmas together. Harry had insisted they spend it in Paris. "It might be our last chance to visit Paris," he'd said, and she'd scoffed, replying that in all probability he'd outlive her.

It had been while they'd been together in Paris the previous Christmas that Ruth had noticed how quickly Harry tired while they were out walking. He'd have to stop to gather his breath before he could continue. She'd suggested he see his doctor, but like so many things, he just hadn't got around to it. Perhaps she should have made him go to the doctor for a check up. Perhaps his heart attack could have been avoided. Then again, maybe July 11th 2038 at 7.42 pm, while sitting at the garden setting in their back garden had been his appointed time and place. Harry's last words on this earth had been: "Perhaps we need to get someone in to prune the azaleas, Ruth." Such a mundane sentence had been the last words to pass between the lips of this once powerful man.

Ruth had been gazing at the azaleas which lined the back fence, and hadn't witnessed him taking his last breath. When she'd turned to look at him, his eyes had clouded, his face was purple, and he had stopped breathing. She had jumped up and administered CPR, but he was already dead. He had died while sitting with her close by, in the garden of the home they had shared for almost 27 years. They could not have timed it better had they planned it. Malcolm Wynn-Jones, in his eulogy at Harry's funeral, had stated that Harry had had a good innings. Given what Harry had done for a living, Ruth had to agree with him.

As much as she missed Harry – every moment of every day – Ruth was thankful for the life they'd had together, and she still had Harry's family, their friends, and her memories. She put her book down, lifted herself off the sofa, and headed upstairs to bed. While lying in the bed she'd shared with Harry for almost 27 years, Ruth grasped her husband's wedding ring and drew it to her lips, as she had each night since his death five and a half months earlier. It was while she was waiting for sleep to overcome her that Ruth decided she was ready to invite a few of the old crowd around. Perhaps New Years Day might be a good time. There was Malcolm, and Erin, and maybe Calum might like to come. Then there was Sam Buxton and her husband, Ged. Sam and Ged had been at Harry's funeral, and they'd agreed to keep in touch. Zoe - newly single - had returned to the UK only five years earlier, so perhaps she could invite her. Yes, Ruth still had a lot of living to do.